


Just Us Monsters

by Freya_Ishtar



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Post-Battle, Romance, canon-divergent, peace-time, programming malfunctions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 20:10:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17290595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freya_Ishtar/pseuds/Freya_Ishtar
Summary: *post-war, peace time* In the aftermath of an epic battle, Natasha and Bucky begin to see each other differently. Neither accustomed to life without combat (or need of their 'skill sets'), they wonder who they can trust—if not themselves—when they both begin experiencing negative effects from their programming.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE NOTE: I deliberately use an English spelling of the Russian form of Nat's name that has a Y instead of an I.
> 
> Author Notes:
> 
> Story was deleted and reposted. Reviews from the original posting have been transferred as guest reviews, including the reviewers names for the sake of verification (the OPs of these reviews have been notified of this via PM).
> 
> 1) This is a canon-divergent AU. Some elements from the canon storylines will still have taken place/be present, others will not. The specifics will become clearer as the story progresses. For MCU timeline reference, however, this plot initially occurred to me before Captain America: Civil War hit theaters (and before I'd sat through AoU). Additionally, please remember this is a peace-time fic, so while there will still be action and combat, that will not be the focus of this, so much as seeing how these individuals handle trying to be 'normal.'
> 
> 2) Chapter lengths will vary, as I only make my chapters long as is strictly necessary to accomplish whatever they need to within the story—sometimes that will be over 4k words, sometimes it will be less than 2k, but the length of the chapter will never have an effect on the quality of the story.
> 
> 3) As with all my fics, the status of this story is Updated Sporadically, because of both the number of fanfictions I have, and a need to split what writing time I have between fanfictions and novel work.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Marvel Cinematic Universe, or any affiliated characters/canon components.

**Chapter One**

Sam exhaled through his nostrils as he shook his head, looking around at the team. Bruised and battered, only half of them were here, the rest in New York, still, but they'd all survived, and that was what mattered. Well, that and the whole  _winning_  the fight part.

Vision was assisting a half-conscious Wanda to sit steady, Clint had already nodded off in a dining room chair with a nasty black eye, Natasha was rummaging through some of his first aid supplies, and Steve paced, observing everyone as he carried on a hushed conversation with Tony—overseeing the team members back at what was left of Avengers Tower. The last-minute addition, whom Sam still didn't really consider part of the team, sat alone in the living room on the far corner of the sofa, looking around at everything, as though uncertain he should even be there.

Finally, something they could agree on.

Steve ended the call and turned his attention to Sam. "Hey," he said, patting his friend's shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." Sam nodded, wincing as he stretched. "Few cracked ribs, but I've had worse. Just . . . pretty sure my house wasn't built for this."

"It's just for a couple of days. We lay low, recoup, wait it out. Tony and the others are doing the same."

It didn't escape Steve's notice that Sam's attention kept shifting back to Bucky. He knew Sam didn't like him very much—what with the whole brainwashed and trying to kill them thing, he was forced to admit he understood—but now was not the time.

"Hey, he helped us when he didn't have to," Steve said with a shake of his head. "Just try to remember he wasn't a willing participant in what he's done."

Sam rolled his eyes as he frowned. "I hate you."

Snorting a chuckle Steve said, "No, you don't."

"No, I don't. I'm going to go patch myself up," Sam said, waving toward his rib cage before he turned and started toward the bathroom, and the backup first aid kit. He winced, again, imagining the discomfort of binding his midsection with an ACE bandage—not that he could do much else for ribcage injuries—but, as he'd already said, he'd had worse.

* * *

Just as Natasha finished dabbing ointment around Clint's eye, his head fell back, his mouth open in a snore.

Snickering quietly, she nodded as she stood and gathered the first aid supplies. "Oh, yeah. Laura's  _so_  lucky."

As she turned away from her partner, she saw Wanda asleep. Poor thing was snuggled into Vision's side. She'd expended so much energy during that fight, they were all surprised she'd had strength left to walk. He caught Nat's gaze, and in a surprisingly human gesture, held a silencing finger to his lips.

Natasha nodded, quieting her footfalls as she walked by them. A flicker of movement from the far side of the living room caught the corner of her eye as she passed the small, arched entryway.

Pausing, she turned her head to follow the motion.

There sat the Winter Soldier, looking both misplaced and  _very_  uncomfortable as he sat on the edge of the sofa. Like he literally did not know what to do with himself.  _Bucky_ , she tried to remind herself,  _Bucky Barnes._  He wasn't the Winter Soldier, Fist of HYDRA right now—he was James Buchanan Barnes, long-lost friend of Steve Rogers with a patchy memory.

And, right now, that friend of Steve's had a rather nasty gash on his right arm.

Shoulders slumping, Nat held the kit in front of her as she turned and stepped into the living room. Despite her cautious approach, he looked up, startled, his blue eyes wide.

Okay, so  _this_ was weird, she considered as she settled on the cushion beside his and shifted to face him. She imagined she was eyeing him as warily as he was her, even as she blindly opened the kit and started extracting bandages and peroxide ointment.

They'd never been in close quarters like this during a calm moment, and she wasn't certain how that made her feel. He was likely thinking the very same thing, she was aware.

Dropping her gaze to the bandages, she cleared her throat. "You, uh, should take that off, so I can see how bad the damage is."

Bucky opened his mouth to protest, but only shut it again, shaking his head. He knew all about the Black Widow. Her training, her conditioning, her genetic augmentation—not entirely dissimilar to him and Steve—meant she knew he didn't actually  _require_  medical attention, as the others might, for such an injury.

But he also knew it would take at least a little time to heal, and any assistance could only speed the process. Also, he was pretty sure she was not going to hear any arguments.

He shrugged out of his vest and peeled of his ruined shirt. Giving himself a once-over for further damage, he extended his arm at her instruction.

"This looks like it's the worst of what you got," she said, her gaze on her work as she cleaned the wound.

Bucky nodded, still wildly uncomfortable to be here with them—with Steve's team that he wasn't _really_  part of.

Even more so, though, he was unsettled by how careful she was being with him. Given the similarity of their backgrounds, he expected the same cold, clinical, even careless treatment he'd have received from any HYDRA doctor.

Natasha was aware—acutely so—of Bucky's still-wary gaze on her as she dressed his injury. Frowning thoughtfully, she nodded. She understood his train of thought; she knew his programming. It had probably been a long while since he'd been considered anything other than a weapon.

He seemed so . . . skittish, almost. Bucky Barnes was a million miles away from the Winter Soldier, right now. She understood how that felt. Yet, he would always be both, and she understood that, too.

She sighed, her shoulders drooping a little. God, she was beat after that fight. Giving her head a shake, she focused on finishing up. "So . . . when is the last time someone treated you like you were human?"

He jutted his chin toward the entryway—she knew he was indicating Steve, who lingered somewhere beyond—as he asked, "Other than him trying to jog my memory?"

Natasha nodded.

His eyes clouded over as he tried to recall any scrap of gentleness, or consideration. Finally, he shook his head. "I can't remember."

"Funny, isn't it?" She patted the bandage, smiling sadly as she watched him sink back into the sofa. "How we were treated most like monsters by the people who made us this way?"

Bucky held her gaze for several heartbeats before he could ask, "So, you think we're not?" This confused and surprised him—how could they be anything else?

She tried to hide the little smirk that curved her lips as she noticed that, as he asked that, his eyelids were drooping. She didn't know if he'd finally relaxed enough to fall asleep, or was simply that worn out from the combat—though, knowing what she did of him, she doubted the latter, despite that she felt ready to just topple over, herself.

"I think we can be, sure," she said, as she closed the kit and then shifted to sink into the sofa beside him. "But I also think we can choose  _not_  to be."

He let his eyes drift closed, and stay that way. How strange, but he felt . . .  _safe_  right now. He couldn't recall the last time he'd felt that—hell, he couldn't recall the last time that had even mattered to him.

Nodding, his voice came out in a sleepy tumble. "I hope you're right."

She nodded before dropping her head back against the cushion behind them. "Me, too."

* * *

Sam shook his head as he crossed the dining room. Clint was still passed out in that chair—he did not envy the archer the cramps he'd have when he woke up—and Vision was still carefully guarding Wanda from any noise that might cause her to stir on the window seat.

Steve was still on edge, standing sentry by the window, despite knowing there wasn't anything to be on the look out  _for,_  right now. Sam, knew, though, with the others to watch out for, Captain America wasn't going to be able to rest for a while.

Shaking his head, Sam proceeded into the living room . . . and stopped short.

Backpedaling a few steps, he called over his shoulder. "Oh, you _gotta_  come see this."

Glancing away from the window, Steve asked, "What's wrong?"

Sam opened his mouth to answer, and then closed it, again. Flicking his attention toward the sofa, he pursed his lips and then looked to Steve, once more. "I'm not even sure how to elaborate on that. You're just gonna have to come and see for yourself."

His massive shoulders slumping, Steve crossed the floor to stand beside Sam. Following the very  _not-_ subtle nod of Sam's head, Steve's brows shot upward.

"Oh," was all he could manage for a moment.

Nat had pulled her legs up onto the cushion in her sleep, curling herself into Bucky's side. Her head was down on his shoulder, and his cheek rested against the top of her hair. They both looked peaceful in a way Steve wasn't sure either of them had in  _far_  too long.

If any two people deserved a peaceful moment . . . .

Smiling, though still surprised—and just a _bit_  confused—Steve nodded. He turned away, motioning for Sam to follow as he walked away, leaving them to rest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Natasha was dimly aware of the sounds of dishes clattering and utensils scraping as she drifted awake. The smell of bacon and coffee was always pleasant first thing in the morning. She inhaled deep, reluctant to let go of sleep so soon, but also wondering why she felt so comfortable?

Then, the moments preceding her falling asleep last night came back to her. She'd never left the sofa, had she? There was a weight curving around her hips, her open palm pressed to solid muscle.

And she was not naïve—she recognized the feel of waking up in an embrace.

She opened her eyes as she lifted her head from his shoulder. His gaze—his rather confused gaze—was already on her face. As she watched him, waiting for what, she didn't know, he forced a gulp down his throat.

Realizing there was the oddest sense that being held by _him_  like this was not new, Nat mirrored the action. "Is it just me, or does this . . . ?"

Bucky nodded. "Feel familiar? Yeah."

Tearing her gaze from his as she reminded herself to breathe, she sat up and gave her head a shake. For another few heartbeats, neither of them moved, but she could feel the weight of his attention on her, still, as they both tried to understand.

Clearing her throat, she decided maybe it was best not to think on this just now. Everything that surrounded the Winter Soldier was supremely complicated, and she could not imagine that any sense of familiarity with him, beyond trying to kill each other, could  _possibly_  be simple.

"I'm, um . . . I'm gonna go wash up," she said, nodding as she finally forced herself to stand and turned away.

He watched her take a few steps before he managed to find his voice, again. "Thank you."

Once more, there was something too familiar about the way she glanced at him over her shoulder, a brow arched as a curious half-smile curved her lips. "For what?"

Bucky nodded toward his arm, indicating the bandage.

"Ah." Her smile broadened just a bit. "You're welcome." As she turned her attention forward and started walking, again, she nearly collided with Steve entering the living room, two plates of eggs and bacon in his hands.

"Whoa, sorry," he said with a surprised chuckle. "Good morning."

Nat's brows shot up as she asked what she already knew was a stupid question, "One of those for me?"

She was all too aware of him looking past her at Bucky as he answered, "Yeah, um, well, you two were still asleep and nobody wanted to wake you."

Bucky couldn't help a snicker as he murmured, "Probably a good choice."

Nat bit her lip on a laugh, though she nodded—the idea of the  _Winter Soldier_  or the  _Black Widow_  being startled awake didn't seem like one that would bode well for the responsible party. Pointing to one of the plates, she said, "I'll be back for that."

Steve watched her walk away and then turned in time to catch Bucky, his head tipped to watch Natasha as she disappeared around a corner.

Painfully aware of his friend's attention on him, Bucky straightened up and sat back. "What?" he asked, frowning.

Shrugging, Steve huffed out a breath and brought the plates to the coffee table before the sofa. "So we're pretending I didn't just see that?"

Bucky dropped his gaze to his fingers as he gave a shrug of his own while his friend took a seat. "That was nothing," he said. He was aware he had a reputation for being something of a Ladies' Man in his previous life, but this was _different_. There was something about _this_  that made him feel uncertain in a way he was pretty sure hadn't happened to him much, pre-HYDRA.

Steve's brows drew upward. Bracing his elbows on his knees, he clasped his hands before him. He could let it go, sure, but he could feel there was something about this bothering Bucky. "Listen, Buck . . . if you need to talk . . . ?"

Chewing on the inside of his lip, Bucky shook his head as he leaned forward and took his plate. He was acutely cognizant of Steve watching him as he shoveled a heaping forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

He was reluctant to speak on whatever that had been—mostly because he had no idea  _what_ that had been—but then it occurred to him that maybe he could confide in Steve. They were friends, after all, and Steve was more than aware of the problematic holes in his memory.

Rolling his eyes, Bucky set down the plate and glanced about before he started—he wasn't sure he wanted anyone else in the room for this. He could only imagine the grief Sam would give him. "Okay, fine. Look, when we woke up together couple of minutes ago, it just . . . it just felt like . . . ."

Steve leaned back a bit, his brows drawing upward. "Like . . . ?"

"Like it's not the first time we've woken up together."

Steve's eyebrows somehow managed to climb higher, still. "Oh!"

His bottom lip poking out in a thoughtful expression, Bucky nodded. "The thing is, other than fighting her, I don't remember Natalya—"

"Whoa, wait," Steve said holding up his hands. "Did you just call her Nata _lya_?"

Bucky's expression pinched, uncertain of why he'd done that—all he could recall hearing her referred to _as_  was Nata _sha_. "Seems so."

"She hasn't gone by that name since she left the KGB. Where did you—?"

"We were both assets for the KGB when they were being used by HYDRA." Bucky shrugged, a mystified scowl playing across his features. "I probably heard it before, or came across it on a mission. I  _was_  ordered to interfere with her objectives once or twice."

Steve nodded. That actually made sense. Though, Bucky seemed to recall his missions with no problem—it was his life  _before_  he'd been stolen by HYDRA he had trouble remembering. It was suspicious that he wouldn't know where he'd come across Natasha's birthname if it  _had_  been in the course of a mission.

But then, maybe he was reading too much into this.

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but completely lost his train of thought as Nat stepped back into the room. She must've borrowed some clothes from Sam, because she was clad in a simple white t-shirt and blue jeans that looked a little too big as she rubbed at her damp red hair with a hand towel.

She tried not to, but her gaze went back to Bucky's. And then traveled over him. Clearing her throat, she smirked. She thought to look away, but it was not _that_  big a deal that he'd never put his shirt back on after removing it last night. . . and the view was nice.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asked, more than aware of a sudden tension in the room that had been triggered by her presence.

The men exchanged a glance before both shrugging and shaking their heads. Though, the way they both watched her as she crossed the living room to pick up her plate gave her pause.

Nat and Bucky ate quietly for a few minutes, all the while, Steve looked from one to the other, and back. He couldn't be sure if this was a comfortable silence between them, or if they were flat-out ignoring each other, and that bizarre sort of uncertainty was a mildly unsettling feeling.

After cleaning her plate, she set it back down and said, "Um, so Clint, Wanda, and I are going to go make a store run. Stock up on some stuff for everyone, some extra food and other basics we're going to  _need_  if we're going to be holed up here a few days."

Bucky and Steve nodded, again, both watching her as she strolled back across the room to the entryway.

"Oh." She glanced back at Bucky over her shoulder, giving him another once-over. "And I'll pick up some fresh clothes for you, Barnes."

From the corner of his eye, Steve noticed Bucky sit up a little straighter and swallow hard. Though, he wasn't sure if it was from the playful wink Nat had tossed before she disappeared from the living room, or the oddly affectionate note he  _swore_  he could hear in her voice as she'd called his best friend  _Barnes_.

He could be imagining things. After all, he'd heard her refer to Bucky as  _Barnes_  before, but there seemed an entirely new context to the way she'd said it, now.

Just now, as she was speaking to Bucky,  _directly_.

Steve frowned, aware he was definitely missing something. When she got back, he'd pull her aside to talk. Maybe she could shed some light on the things Bucky  _had_  to be struggling to remember at this moment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Language reference note: Due to Sokovia's geographic location according to MCU canon (and the appearance of signs written in Serbian Cyrillic Alphabet in AoU), I'm assuming Wanda's native tongue as a Sokovian is Serbian. Serbian and Russian share more than half their vocabulary, and as with many languages with such similarities, it's likely Natasha and Wanda would be able to talk in their native tongues and [mostly] understand one another.
> 
> Author's Note: Yes, I saw Infinity War. I don't really want to talk about it (and yes, I'm aware of the comic canon as to how everything gets 'fixed', but I would not put it past the MCU writers to make us all sweat by going in a totally different direction before sorting things [I also refuse to trust anything the writers or other production crew members tell us about how Endgame will turn out, given how fiercely they all worked against spoilers getting out with IW]).

**Chapter Three**

There was music in her head as they walked along an aisle of the department store. She hadn't even noticed she was lightly humming along to it under her breath until she turned and saw Clint and Wanda both watching her with raised eyebrows.

Nat halted in her reach for a bundle of men's undershirts as she looked from one to the other, and back. Her own brows pinched together and she dropped her mouth open in a perfect little  _O_  before asking, "What?"

Clint pursed his lips in what was almost a smile before he said, "Do you really not hear yourself?"

Shaking her head, she grabbed the shirts, pausing to check the size. "Yeah, I  _just_  caught it. So?"

"Was that . . . classical?"

"Yes, yes it was. And yes, I've been inundated with my fair share of it, but no, I don't actually know what song it was." Returning the first bundle to the shelf, she grabbed for the next. Nat nodded after reading the size and tossed the shirts into the cart. "What I don't understand are the looks."

Wanda shrugged, interlocking her fingers in front of her. "You don't exactly seem the 'humming under your breath' type."

"Oh, is that all?" Nat shook her head, turning and continuing down the aisle once more, heading in the direction of men's pants.

Clint followed in silence, only paying half-attention as the girls got into some hushed conversation that was a mix of Serbian and Russian he couldn't follow if he tried. He was going to pretend as though Sam hadn't pulled him aside to—amid a series of muted chuckles and waggled eyebrows—disclose to him the  _situation_ that had occurred in the living room earlier that morning.

He knew Nat too well. She wasn't one to avoid things, but rather seemed to go out of her way to greet them head on, if only to get them the hell out of the way.

If she wasn't willing to talk to  _him_  about whatever the hell was up with her and Barnes, then he knew he wasn't going to force it out of her, either.

As he watched, Wanda held up a pair of jeans. Nat slipped, switching back to English as she asked, "What size?"

The younger woman read off the label to her, only for Nat to shake her head. "Waist is okay, but find something with a longer inseam."

Leaning an arm against a nearby rack, Clint arched a brow. "And these would be for?"

Nat shrugged, looking through a shelf of jeans, herself. "Barnes. He doesn't have anything else."

"Uh-huh." The undershirts had been an easy enough guess by sight-based measurements, but knowing his inseam, that seemed . . . oddly specific. "And you know the correct size of pants he wears how, exactly?"

Pausing, the redhead's eyes widened just the faintest bit—so slight a change to her expression, Clint felt sure he only noticed due to how well he knew her.

She hadn't even realized. Worse, she hadn't even stopped to think about it. That seemed an utterly ridiculous point. She'd watched the Winter Soldier in combat many times, had tangled with him personally; it was  _entirely_  possible she'd estimated from those experiences.

Rather than wasting her time arguing the possible reasons with Clint, she arched a brow right back. "Knock off the inane questions, or I'll make _you_  go pick out his boxers."

Though he appeared about to argue, he wagged his finger in the air, a thoughtful look on his face. "I think I'll go get the food and meet up with you two at the register. Sound good? Okay!"

The women shared a laugh as they watched Clint grab the cart and make an about-face. Nat was certain she'd never seen anyone look quite so serious and focused about grocery shopping before.

Then again . . . . Her mouth twitched to one side as she thought that over. Given her very limited experience with mundane tasks like grocery shopping, for all she knew, the average citizen took their errands  _very_ seriously.

"So," Wanda started, drifting past the men's section toward, her gaze locked on a display of leather jewelry, "what is happening with you and . . . Bucky? It's an odd sounding name for a man who looks like him, isn't it?"

Snickering, Nat nodded. She did wonder why he preferred it to James—that's what she'd call him, given a choice. Clearing her throat as she found herself wondering what it would feel like to address him that way, she decided for a change of subject.

"Speaking of men . . . or, sort-of-men, in this case . . . ." She gave that secretive, tight-lipped smile of hers. "What's the deal with you and Vision, anyway?"

The younger woman's eyes shot wide. A tiny, adorable flare of color dusted her cheeks as she pressed her mouth into a firm line. Darting her gaze about, she suddenly found a sale on sunglasses that required closer inspection.

Shaking her head—she should be ashamed of herself, she really should—Nat trooped after Wanda, grabbing needed items as she went. She might not fully know what was going on in her own head, but she still knew how to shut people up.

If she didn't now, herself, what the hell the deal was between herself and Barnes. How on earth could she be expected to discuss the matter with anyone else?

* * *

Sam's brows shot up, a markedly displeased expression twisting his features as the punching bag snapped its chains and went flying across the garage. Steve winced, and Bucky mirrored his friend's expression as he realized what he'd done.

Couldn't even blame the metal arm for this one. "Sorry," he said with a frown as he crossed the floor to retrieve it.

Shrugging, Sam tossed up his hands. "So is this just a thing you super-soldiers do? Accidentally wreck other people's fitness equipment, or is something bothering you?"

When Bucky didn't respond, retrieving the bag and hefting it up to look at the rent metal links in silence, Steve gave his friend a once-over and frowned. "This about what happened with Nat?"

His shoulder drooping, Bucky twisted the links back into some semblance of functioning order and then trooped back across the floor to rehang it. He slammed his fist into the surface, needing the momentary distraction of brute force before he could form a response.

A scowl flickering across his face, Bucky threw another punch. "No. Yes . . . . Look, what happened this morning it . . . it just reminded me of how much I  _don't_  remember." He slammed his fist into the bag, again. "I remember so many things I'd  _really_  rather not, but for every memory I have—" Another punch—"there's one I know jus _t isn't_  there, but I can feel it." Another punch. "It's like I'm scrambling at this empty space, trying to force it to show me something." Another punch . . . one that sent the bag sailing across the garage all over again.

Steve's face closed down in a hard cringe and Sam hung his head, his entire frame seeming to droop. Neither of them could truly appreciate how frustrating a situation this must be for Bucky, but how it was leading to the wanton—though unintentional—destruction of his property certainly wasn't helping Sam's already less-than-friendly take on the Winter Soldier.

He barely heard Bucky mutter another apology as the one-man wrecking machine crossed the floor to retrieve the bag, once more.

This was going to be a  _long_ couple of days.


End file.
